


This Too Shall Break You

by Quarkitty



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Chloroform, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, NSFW, Ramsay Bolton Is His Own Warning, Rape, Thramsay - Freeform, alcohol mention and alcohol use, cigarette mention and cigarette use, drug mention and drug use, i have to do community service after this one to cleanse my soul, internet gore, kyra and asha save the fucking day, non con, passed out sex, sad things about fathers, sexually frustrated theon is also good, while writing this i developed a crush on kyra so shes hot ok, will continue to tag as chapters roll in, will this one have a happy ending i think so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6889069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarkitty/pseuds/Quarkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unemployed and despondent, Theon receives the bad news: his father has died. After pushing Kyra away, Theon seeks out a more destructive way to cope. Nothing can tame his thoughts, nothing but a guy named Snow (don't say it to his face, he swears he doesn't sell it anymore) and a tiny apartment that hides secrets and bloodshed. Theon gets in way over his head and Ramsay gets what he has always wanted: a boy at his lowest who can't get away.</p><p>Unfortunately for Theon, there are lowlife on the internet that call themselves the Bastard's Boys and they love a show. It is up to Kyra and Asha Greyjoy to save their beloved squid and put an end to Ramsay's internet horror gore show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> My usual warnings apply. I write trash to cope with mental illness shit. Come be trash with me. Ramsay Bolton is his own warning. I will do my very best to content warn for everything. I want you to be safe and okay. I also want several million dollars and two cats. Let's make at least one of those happen.
> 
> Another AU because I miss writing it. This one is prompted by a special secret anon on tumblr who wanted something that WILL happen in a future chapter. This chapter is tame but I promise, I am going to hard on this one. This is gonna be like the Thramsaybowl. Let's win it team.

**One: Black Teeth**

Theon glanced at his phone. Missed call from Asha. Rolling his eyes, he scowled. He hadn’t seen his sister in years, they weren’t even friends on Facebook. Admittedly, he probably wouldn’t recognize her if they met face to face. Either she wanted a favor or worse. He slid it into his pocket and swung his leg over his motorcycle. Grinning back at Kyra, he played with his dark hair. Kyra never asked for a spare helmet, she always held on hard, her acrylic nails biting into Theon’s skin. It always hurt, he would have white marks across his ribs after just a ten minute drive.

Kyra kissed his neck and giggled into his ear. Her shift at the bar was over, the tenth day of work in a row. Theon set off for his apartment, just about three short miles away. The wind was cold, goosebumps prickled on her arms. At a red light she bit Theon’s ear, laughing at his shiver.

Neither wanted to be more than occasional phone calls and desperate texts, but it felt better that way. Theon was something you had in small bites, not all at once, Kyra thought, placing her chin on his shoulder. His leather jacket smelled. She took a whiff. He had been smoking, she wasn’t surprised. That boy never knew when to stop. Always one drink in too deep, one ATM withdraw beyond his budget, an extra blunt when his eyes were already devil red.

Theon pulled near his apartment and parked his motorcycle. It was an old model, barely kicking and smoky but Theon loved it all the same. Sea Bitch he called it. (When Kyra protested it wasn’t a damn ship, she got the scowl of a man who took himself far too seriously.) He threw a canvas cover of it, hands moving deftly and swift.

“Keeping your lady dry?” Kyra smirked.

“If you had a bike, you’d get it.” Theon had only been riding for two months but talked like an old man who had ridden a dozen bikes from the assembly line to spare parts shop. The day after he bought the used bike he already had a motorcycle jacket and a Harley t-shirt. Kyra wondered if he only wanted a motorcycle for the fashion.

They climbed up three flights of stairs to Theon’s apartment. He pushed open the door, and didn’t bother flicking on the light. They knew their way to the bedroom. He still had laundry on the bed. Krya kissed his neck and went to shove it off. He carefully untangled her arms and put his pre-distressed jeans in a pile on the floor, playfully scoffing at her carelessness.

Kyra made love like she was being timed. Her clothes were always off first, fast and with a few movements of her arms. She threw off her shirt and stepped out of her jeans. Her toe snagged on a hole and she tripped slightly, hopping on one unsteady foot. Theon caught her by the waist and kissed her mouth. Even her kisses were fast. All tongue and wet, nothing slow. If she was slow, she savored it. One thing she learned about sex with Theon, she must never ever take it slow. It only felt good when she rode him like he was on fire, fast bounces off of his skin, careful not to burn herself.

Like so many times before, Kyra sat on Theon’s hips as he pulled down his pants. Fast, she reminded herself, as Theon put his phone on the bedside table. He checked his messages one last time, something that always bothered her but she never said a word about. Once he had answered a call during sex. (It was his credit card company, he had protested. Anyone else would have done the same.) She grabbed his cheek and pulled him back into the moment.

He buried his hands into her red hair and took a whiff. Even after an eight hour shift in a smoky dive bar, she smelled like floral shampoo and cheap body spray. All those smells she sprayed on her body, the scented lotion, the deodorant, the travel sized roll on perfume. It all blended together into something noxious, but he loved it all the same. He loved how she always had dark lipstick on, how it left dark purple streaks across his face like painless bruises.

The phone rang.

Kyra sucked Theon’s collarbone, her eyes closed.

He glanced over and swallowed. It was Asha again. She would never call twice. They avoided each other year round and just sent gift cards in the mail on Christmas.

“Don’t,” Kyra pressed a finger on Theon’s lips, stopping any objection. She took him inside her and rocked back forth.

The ringing stopped. He pushed into her and panted loudly, gasping and moaning. One embarrassing thing Theon hated about himself was how loud he wanted to be during sex. He was noisy and whoreish, always wanting dirty talk and sounds.

It rang again.

His eyes darted over to check the caller. Asha.

“Don’t, Theon,” Kyra pleaded, out of breath.

“It’s my sister,” he reached out and grabbed his phone.

“You better not think about your sister when you’re with me,” Kyra joked, moving off of Theon.  He was still rigid.

Theon unlocked his phone and was already hitting redial, catching his breath. Picking at a freckle on her arm, Kyra waited. What was she doing here again, she wondered. Every time she came here, she swore it was the last but it never was. Inevitably, one of her friends would cancel plans or she would come home from a long shift to a few texts from him. It was the same story, weekend after weekend.

“Asha?” Theon croaked into the phone, still a little short on breath. He moved a blanket up over his naked waist, feeling a little uncomfortable talking to his estranged sister on the phone without trousers on. “Uh, what’s going on?”

Silence. Kyra kept picking pieces of her body, examining the fine hairs growing on her arms. It was too dark to stare at anything, only the outside lamp dimly illuminated the room.

“What do you mean?” Theon’s voice was hollow.

More silence. Kyra played with her hair nervously, picking off some split ends.

“How? When? How?”

She tugged at a piece and tore it out, the satisfying snap felt good on her scalp.

“He fell? What do you mean he fell?”

Theon was standing now, pacing the room with just a T-shirt on. He flicked the light switch on and squinted into the light.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shit. Shit. Yeah. Ok.” His words were blending together. His face was ashen and grey. “I just. I can’t, is this real? This is real.”

Kyra grabbed her T-shirt off of the floor and slipped it on over her head. No time for a bra, she tucked it into her purse and slid on her jeans. Theon paced faster across his apartment, his hand in his hair, tugging and pulling. He kept shaking his head, eyes wide and glossy.

“I don’t care about the house yet, Asha, that’s not my biggest worry.”

There was a lilt to Theon’s voice, Kyra could never place the accent. He had told her where he grew up once, some island, a house right on the sea. She couldn’t remember the name, he had said it was small and rural. Every morning, Theon told her one bike drive around town, he would wake up to the smell of the salty sea. When he opened his windows in summer the whole house smelled like kelp and the ocean. Kyra stood near Theon, giving him some distance yet. Her mind raced to the worst scenario. A death in the family, she thought, trying to remember Theon’s family. He talked of them rarely. A wild bunch, she knew. Some vulgar uncles that used to ruin holidays when he was a kid and a sister who got into trouble more than him, if such a thing was possible.

“I gotta go, I gotta go,” Theon stammered into the phone and hung up before the other party could acknowledge it. He stared at Kyra, tugging down the hem of his shirt. Kyra had never seen him so vulnerable. She reached out to touch him, any kind of comfort. Theon held up his hands and stepped backwards into the wall. “Don’t touch me,” he stared at the ground. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine, it’s my family, it’s fine.” Theon wouldn’t look at her. “Just go, please, I just need to be alone, please.”

Hesitantly, Kyra grabbed her purse and swung it over her shoulders. She smoothed down her clothes. It didn’t have much time to get rumpled as it were. She had been in his apartment for only ten minutes she guessed. She was always fast with him, but never quite like this.

“You drove me here,” Kyra peeped out sheepishly. Theon did not answer. “I’m fine, I’ll get back.”

“I’ll give you ten bucks next time I see you,” he said to the floor.

“You don’t have to.” She opened up the door and looked back at Theon. “You can text me with more things than just, you know. I’m here for you Theon.”

He didn’t respond. His finger rubbed his phone, the screen still hot from his face.

The last time Theon cried was when he left his wallet in the back of a cab when he was twenty-one. He rubbed his nose and stared down at his naked legs. It had been several years, he wasn’t even sure his tear ducts worked anymore. He bowed his head and let the tears fall onto his cold toes. His father was dead. They had not spoken since Theon moved out and now he was dead.

Frantic, Theon rushed to his room, wiping his face. Was his apartment always this hot and musty? He opened up a window and thought about his childhood home. All the scents of the sea, he remembered. He felt nauseous. The house by the sea where he grew up, it must be empty now. All those rooms, once filled to the brim.

He tapped his thigh instinctively, looking for his cigarettes. Glancing at the floor, Theon picked up his jeans and buttoned them on. Good, he still had half a pack left. They would all be gone tonight, he thought, searching for a half working lighter. Darting outside, Theon left his phone at home. He didn’t need any concerned texts from Kyra, or worse, his sister whose face he could barely even picture. When was the funeral, he wondered. Who would be there? Was he expected to go? Would he have to make a speech? Was there life insurance? Death is never tidy. A million loose ends and more papers to sign than birth. Theon ran down the stairs two at a time, his long legs pumping. He propped a cigarette between his lips and walked out into the summer air.

Most people found the city nights isolating. Too many nameless people walking home, usually half drunk and half awake. Theon strode in no particular direction, taking heavy drags of his cigarette. He wished it was something else, something strong and potent. He was laid off from his seemingly steady office job last month. The routine drug tests for unemployment prevented anything harder than alcohol and cigarettes. He dragged deeper, fighting the urge to find his old hangouts. Kyra used to know a guy who got them shit for cheap. It was never high quality, but it was always available.

A few cars drove past Theon, their headlights blinding him. He kicked a bottle cap down the street, it skittered down into a gutter. Crushing the cigarette on the ground beneath his boot, he reached for a second one. Trying to parse the news, Theon walked slower. His dad was dead, he could start there. Asha said he fell, that was it. A vague reason, no sickness or gunshot wound. There wasn’t a death more anticlimactic than falling, it was almost cartoonish. His dad was dead.

And what of his mother? Theon tried not to think of her too often, if he was being honest. An unhinged woman, she had gone mad with grief after the death of her two sons. Theon hated the memories, he wished he could shake off the name Greyjoy like snakeskin. His brothers were older than him and the only memories Theon had were their cruel jokes and pranks. There was no fondness there. Yet his mother fell to pieces when the news broke. For weeks after she called Theon by their names. Day by day she waited for them to come home. It was soon after she began talking to walls, always convinced her sons were right beside her.

Theon took the cigarette from his mouth and extinguished the tip onto his arm. The pain was a brief relief. He tossed the butt into the street. Was it already time for a third?

His mother had been under close care in a live-in ward for years. Doubtless when she was told of her husband’s fate she would get worse. Theon admired his new burn mark. His mother was gone, he reminded himself. She was there only in name. Everything in her head was gone.

Theon turned a corner and ran into a man. Startled, he regained his composure.

“Sorry, sorry,” Theon dropped his pack of cigarettes and bent over to pick them up. “Just lost in my thoughts, real sorry.” The man picked up the pack before Theon could reach them and tucked the pack into his front shirt pocket.

Theon glared. The man was broad. There was no other word that came to mind. Broad shoulders, a broad nose, thick lips, a wide face. His long dark hair reached his shoulders, grazing the top of a light pink shirt. He couldn’t place an age, late twenties perhaps, there were no wrinkles on his face. He toed the line between ugly and eccentrically handsome. His eyes though, Theon couldn’t read any emotion in them. His pupils were small and centered directly in the sockets, staring off at nothing. They were pale, colorless. He stared, wondering if they were contact lenses.

“C’mon,” Theon put his hand out. “I’ll give you one for knocking into you but not the whole pack. I’m having a rough night, man.” Theon hated leveling with other men. The false camaraderie and small talk, all of it.

The man grabbed a cigarette from the pack and his own Bick lighter from his pocket. He flicked it swiftly and took a puff. “Thanks darling.” He pat the pack softly and kept walking, his combat boots dragging along the concrete.

Any other night and Theon would tell the story to his friends over a beer and laugh about it. He would lie to Kyra and make it funnier, he’d tell her he had some witty retort. She’d giggle and he’d feel better about the whole thing. A pack of cigarettes for a funny story to tell Kyra during her shift at the bar. It was worth it. Any other night and he would have went right home.

Theon clenched his fists and bit the inside of his cheek. He spun around on his heel and power walked to the man. Before he could stop himself, his hand was on the man’s shirt collar, spinning him around.

“Give them back to me and get on your way,” Theon demanded. The man looked down at him, a smile already on his face. His teeth were wide and hungry.

 “I know you,” he laughed to himself, deep inside his chest. “Theon. Kyra’s boy.”

His stomach tightened. Kyra’s boy. He didn’t know which part offended him the most, that someone thought Kyra owned him like a small dog or the diminutive term boy.

“I never seen you around her.”

The man shrugged. “Whether you’ve seen me or not doesn’t change the fact that I’ve seen you.”  He took a cigarette out of the pack and leaned over Theon. With a quick flick of his wrist, he put the cigarette between Theon’s lips and held a lighter up to it.

“You’re giving me my own cigarette. That you stole.” Theon scowled, his patience for the stranger wearing thin. The man cupped his hand around Theon’s cigarette and lit it. He smiled even wider.

“Maybe I should go work for the government then. They do shit like that every day.” He blew a smoke ring at Theon. “It’s been a while Theon Greyjoy.”

Theon raised a brow and folded his arms tight against his chest. “Been a while for what?”

“Kyra told me you get testing now but I didn’t think you’d actually stop.”

He pursed his lips and clicked his tongue. “I guess you’re Snow.” Snow was always cheap, always efficient, and always an enigma. Usually Kyra tossed Theon what he needed and took his cash. The two would smoke together in Theon’s room or take uppers and fuck.

The man put a finger on Theon’s collarbone and stared into his eyes. That stare, it penetrated. He swallowed a lot gob of saliva building up in his throat. “Don’t call me Snow, I don’t sell coke anymore.” he whispered barely above a hush. It was an order. His expression shifted instantly, from anger to pleasant playful. “So, Theon. I know we usually use Kyra as a go between but chance is such a lovely friend.” When he smiled he didn’t use his eyes, only his teeth. Like an animal, Theon thought, scanning the man up and down. There was nothing human about him, only beast. Unhinged, men like that are always fun to fuck, he hated himself for the thought but it was often true.

Theon thought of his cell phone back at the apartment. Surely it was filled to the brim with texts from Kyra and Asha. Apologizing, expressing concern. Word would travel to his friends. Soon Robb would call him and leave a pitiful voice mail. His uncles would call and try to play nice. All of Robb’s family would call to ask when the funeral was. He shuddered at the thought. Grief was a one person party. He did not want anyone else to attend. His father was dead, he reminded himself. A fact that he barely felt anything about except shock.

His testing for unemployment was in a few weeks. Just a few weeks. Maybe even by then he’d have an interview lined up and his work pants folded on the couch. Just once, just tonight. Just make a few mistakes. It wasn’t even midnight yet, there were several hours to save his Saturday.

Theon dug into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, soft from going through the wash last week. He nodded at the man.

“I’m on a budget.”

The man grabbed the twenty, and brought it up to his nose. He gave it a quick whiff and stuffed it into his pocket. “What cologne do you wear?”

In truth, Theon had not showered that day. He woke up at noon in his own drool and stubble, another day of unemployment. All he had done was run dry shampoo through his hair and used the dollar store deodorant before picking up Kyra. Before he could think of an answer, Ramsay waved it off and interrupted his thought process.

“For you Theon, let’s do something special.” He grabbed the cigarettes from his shirt pocket and tossed them to Theon. “Call me Ramsay. C’mon, my place is up the street.”

“And how do I know I won’t appear on tomorrow’s morning news? Local shit head dead for trusting another local shit head.” In secret, Theon’s biggest worry was what photo the news would use for him. He had hoped they had the sense to use something good looking and recent, not his driver’s ID where his eyes were half open and red.

“I could say the same of you, inviting a strange man to my place. Only two kinds of movies start that way. Pornos and slashers. So take your pick.” Ramsay spoke in daggers. He rarely paused between words, just stabbed forward at his point.

Glancing back towards his apartment, Theon winced. All those pitiful messages just waiting for him to unwrap. _I’m sorry; do you need to talk; I’m here for you._ He looked back at Ramsay, a man who knew his name for, how long? Years? Being with a stranger was sometimes liberating. There was nothing between them to lose.

“Let’s go.”

When Ramsay smiled, Theon’s stomach kicked like a half broken bike. In the night his teeth looked black. They walked north. Bad news could wait. Theon just needed a good high and maybe, if he could find it, a good fuck. This time, he thought, he might actually get to finish.


	2. Shriveled Lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon goes back to Ramsay's apartment with the promise of trying "something nice" for a mere twenty bucks. His mind needs respite and his body is desperate. Ramsay has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~For a special anon, I hope I did it justice.~ <3

**Two: Shriveled Lungs**

Theon was three drinks tipsy and still had no idea why he had followed Ramsay to his apartment. It was dark, cramped, a shitty basement apartment with no egress window to see the time of day from. He took another swig of the warm beer. It was free, that was good enough.

The whole apartment smelled like burnt food and weed. Theon took a few glances around the place, trying to find any mementos to give way to Ramsay’s personality. Some shirts thrown over chairs, a few books that never looked opened, a TV that looked like it was from Goodwill circa 1999. This guy might sell, Theon thought, but he isn’t rolling in it. Financially struggling, by the looks of it. He thought of something nice to say about the apartment. They were lounging on a couch, beige with some telling stains on the arms. There were a few drawings tacked onto the walls. Theon wasn’t up to date on what made art good or bad, but he felt he could pretty strongly attest that they were horrendous. Messy, charcoal sketches of bodies, the anatomy was terrible and juvenile. Theon smirked into his beer bottle at how the women looked. Had Ramsay ever even seen someone naked, he thought, staring at a pair of drawn breasts that defied gravity with tiny, pinprick nipples.

“So, where do you work? Or, you know, is selling,” he let his thoughts trail off. Was he really about to ask this stranger if he sold drugs for a living?

Ramsay laughed and gestured to his apartment floor, threadbare and filled with cigarette holes. “I’m a social climber, Theon. What looks like squalor to you is princely to me.”

He was just tipsy enough to laugh.

“Then what did you have before?”

Ramsay fiddled at his teeth with his tongue, licking them over and digging at his gums for leftover food. “I grew up somewhere very rural. My mom and I were the only people around for what felt like miles. To be in the city, it’s much better, even if it’s smaller living space. But to answer your question, I find work. Don’t worry where. I probably have more money in my bank account than you have had in it your whole life.”

Theon rolled his eyes. “And what good does it do in a bank account? Can your money give you comfort? Can you wear it? Eat it?”

Ramsay held a finger up. “Did you come here to argue about pointless shit or did you come here to get fucked up?”

He couldn’t argue that.

“What was this something special you have for me?”

Ramsay shifted closer to Theon and wagged a finger. “Patience. It’ll be even better if you’re just a little more drunk for it, I promise. Have another beer, it’s not even midnight yet.” He leaned over to the coffee table in the middle of the room and pulled out another beer. It wasn’t a twist off, but Ramsay went to work on it anyway. He slammed the top on the edge of the table, popping it off. Part of the table chipped, the wood hung there limp.

Since he had arrived, Ramsay had been nursing the same drink. He wasn’t even buzzed, let alone tipsy. Kyra had a rule she once told Theon. Never be drunker than a person you’re with. Did that only go for women, Theon wondered to himself, thinking of the times Kyra had to throw out drunk bar patrons who were rude to her.

In the dim light of the apartment, Theon studied Ramsay’s face. He couldn’t tell his motives. Usually Theon could tell motives in a half second glance. People either wanted to fuck or get fucked up, there were no other options. But Ramsay was sober and hadn’t once touched Theon since he came into the apartment.

He shifted in his clothes, propping his boot up onto the couch. It wasn’t becoming of him to get desperate. It wasn’t necessarily that he wanted Ramsay. Part of him was disgusted by the man. His lips were perpetually wet, his hair was greasy at the roots. Theon lowered his leg onto the couch, creeping his foot closer to Ramsay. He felt like he was fifteen again, playing coy with his first partners, trying to get laid before his friends did.

Pathetic, Theon knew, moving his foot in a circle and smirking at Ramsay. He took a long deep drink out of his beer, nearing the end. Wrapping his lips around the neck of the bottle, Theon dragged his tongue across it.

Ramsay’s eyes locked on him. Theon kept working the bottle, licking and sucking. He moved his soft lips down the neck, kissing it, making as much noise as he could. He murmured into the glass and sucked, closing his eyes, tilting his head downward. The bottle went too far down his throat. Theon choked and coughed, opened his eyes and stared at Ramsay.

He was hard. Ramsay was a shotgun cocked and ready.

Tilting his head back, Theon drank the rest of the beer. He barely swallowed when Ramsay was upon him. He pinned him down to the couch with his heavy fists, large as hams and twice as hefty.  Ramsay pushed down on him with all his weight.

Ramsay kissed Theon, hard with his tongue and his teeth skittering against his lips. His hands had nowhere to go, Theon dropped the bottle on the floor and hoped not to make a mess. He grabbed Ramsay by his waist and tugged at the hem of his shirt. It had to come off. Fast, like Kyra, he remembered. Was that only hours ago? He hadn’t even cum, he hadn’t even got started.

With his hands on Ramsay’s warm back (he felt _solid_ , enormous) Theon laughed into Ramsay’s hair as the stranger grinded his hips against him. It was so easy. It was too easy to fuck. Having sex used to be hard when he was younger. All that texting, buying dinner, easing into the mood. Anymore all Theon had to do was spread his legs and ask. Where was the challenge, he wondered, feeling Ramsay’s hard cock grow against his thigh. Both men laughed and smiled, kissing each other and feeling around the new bodies.

Theon took off his own shirt and threw it across the room. Laying kisses down his ribs, Ramsay licked and bit his way down. It tickled. Theon suppressed a giggle and ran a hand down Ramsay’s neck, his fingernails lightly skimming his skin.

“You couldn’t resist, could you,” he whispered in his ear, unable to resist dirty talking. Ramsay shook his head, his teeth wide in a grin. His eyes weren’t smiling, Theon noticed. Was he nervous? Was Ramsay a fucking virgin, Theon chortled. Theon ran a hand down to Ramsay’s pants and grabbed his cock. He teased, reaching for the zipper but only skimmed it and moved his hand away.  Feeling in control was always a thrill, Theon’s snaggletooth smile caught on his own lip. He bucked his hips against Ramsay slowly, grinding denim against denim, his own hardness growing. “Attaboy,” he hummed to himself.

Ramsay grabbed Theon by the neck.

His eyes bulged.

“I know exactly everything about you Theon,” Ramsay grunted.

Theon stared. The mood felt different. Ramsay wasn’t smiling anymore.

Ramsay gripped harder. It was difficult to breathe.

“What do you mean?” He shot back, his neck swelling against his speech.

Pulling back his hand, Ramsay slapped Theon across the face. Without waiting, he backhanded him on the other side, his knuckles grazing Theon’s teeth. Theon gasped, the wind taken out of him. Shaking his head, Theon squirmed against Ramsay.

“I know exactly the kind of person you are.” He brought his face closer to Theon and stared, unblinking. “Cocky. Arrogant. You use sex as a distraction when you feel bad about life. Addicted to drinking and drugs but you think it’s a personality trait, not a problem. I know exactly what you’re like, I’ve sold to a thousand men like you and I’ll sell to a thousand more.”

“I’m not into any of that shit,” Theon panicked. Was it a game? Was Ramsay into degradation? He kicked his legs out from under him, but his body was frail and helpless in comparison.

Ramsay’s nose touched his. “I don’t care what you’re into.”

He punched Theon square in the jaw. Theon couched and sputtered. Frantically, he looked around the room for means to escape. No one knew he was here. No one.

“Red!” He screamed, his voice a scratch of chalk in his throat. “Red, or whatever the fuck you sickos scream, red!” Another fist to the face. This time the pain was worse, Theon was sure his nose was broken or fractured. His cock went limp and his vision blurred. Panic raced diagonally across his chest.

Ramsay reached underneath the couch and pulled something out from under it. He moved too fast, too calculated. It was planned, it was all planed, Theon realized. His stomach threatened to empty itself. Theon held his face, warm blood trickling out of his nostrils. He looked over, eyes blurring with tears. What did Ramsay have, what did he have, what was that? A bottle, a white bolt of cloth? He shook his head, trembling. “Red, red,” he coughed and coughed.  “I want to go home, please! Please!” Don’t let him see you cry, Theon ground his teeth together, trying to keep the dampness behind his eyelids.

With his large left hand, Ramsay cradled Theon’s head. He shushed him like a squalling child, holding his finger in front of Theon’s trembling lips. “Shh, shhh,” he hushed, grinning. With a fleck of his finger, Ramsay wiped a tear from Theon’s eye and brought it up to his mouth. He gave it a small lick, eyes crinkling. Ramsay smiled with his whole face for the first time. Theon felt his hard cock rubbing against him, larger than it had been during their giggles.

Holding up his right hand, Ramsay covered Theon’s mouth with a white rag. Theon flailed, twisting his body against Ramsay. This only happens in movies, he thought, this isn’t real. Ramsay bit Theon’s neck, between his collarbones. He left a wet trail of spit.

“This was your something special,” Ramsay laughed. “Twenty bucks will buy you something very nice.” He pinched closed Theon’s nose and leaned his weight down on him. It was impossible to breathe, he felt like evening traffic. Theon did not know whether to close his eyes or keep them open, tune it out or zero in. Chloroform, he wondered, was it chloroform? He held his breath, his lungs shriveling up. His chest felt hollow. He was a ship half build, the ark’s frame laying wasted on a beach.

It was too much. Theon inhaled, the chloroform filled cloth wet against his lips. He was dizzy. It felt like binge drinking. It felt like a phone full of texts, all bad news. The edges of his vision smudged. It had a vaguely sweet smell. Cheap perfume. Kyra. He was drowning.

There was nothing worth fighting anymore. Theon closed his eyes and stopped twisting his body. He let his muscles relax and breathed into the cloth. It would be over soon, he promised himself, his thigh all too aware that Ramsay’s cock was hard and waiting. He knew what would happen to him, it was inevitable.

It would be over soon.

He inhaled, the Drowned God took him.


	3. Short Breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elusive, head-strong young woman pays a visit to Kyra at work. She claims to be Theon's estranged sister and she's worried about her absent brother. Their father's funeral is soon and he is nowhere to be found. The girls make a pact to find him together when Kyra receives bad news and a threat.

**Three: Short Breaths**

Kyra called Theon’s number again, the fifth time that hour. It went straight to voicemail. She didn’t bother leaving one. Biting the nail on her thumb, she scrolled through her list of contacts. No one had heard from him since the other night. He wasn’t answering for anyone, not even Robb.

“I’m leaving early,” she interjected to her co-worker Jeyne.. “My friend’s in a bit of a spot.” They wiped glasses together with rags in circular motions. It was a slow day, the music in the bar wasn’t as loud as usual but they still had to shout to hear one another, bringing their ears down closer.

“Who?” Jeyne asked, always so nosy. “Greyjoy kid?”

“No matter, just someone.” Kyra tied her hair up with a scrunchie on her wrist, drumming her fingers on the bar table. She preferred busy days, they went by faster and her mind didn’t have time to stop swimming. “I’ll stay late tomorrow, I just have to go.”

Sweeping her stare across the bar, Kyra assessed the floor. The usual college patrons were over at their typical station, young and drinking their brains hazy. Some older men were talking hunched over foreign beers, looking up occasionally at a young pair of women sipping margaritas. She stayed focused on them.

“If you have to go, you have to go,” Jeyne yawned and checked her phone for the hundredth time that night, ignoring the pile of wet beer glasses behind her.

Kyra kept watching, not liking the way the men stared and went back to murmuring to each other, as if calculating a plan. She squinted. Sure enough, the four men all got up at once and walked over to the young women. One blonde man placed an arm on the back of the chair. His move was calculated and obvious, it said, _don’t get up, you couldn’t if you wanted to_. It wasn’t unusual to see leery men trap women at the bar, keeping them locked in a boring conversation with no escape route. Usually Kyra added pinpoints on the situations, keeping an eye on the girl and waiting for a friend to break her free. She watched. The girls giggled a bit and shook their heads. Someone asked something. They shook their heads again and stirred their margaritas awkwardly. One of them grabbed their purse and brought it into her lap. The man reached over the girl and whispered something to her, touching the nape of her neck, running his meaty hands through her curly hair. She moved her head and he grabbed a lock of thick curls, pulling it close to his face, his smile was wet and determined. The other three men stood in a circle behind him, beers in their hands.

 A young woman with black hair, eyes deep set and dark walked behind the men and grabbed the blonde by the arm, pulling it back rough. He shouted.

Kyra grabbed Jeyne’s shoulder and pointed at the back door. “Get the security guard, something’s about to break out,” she ushered Jeyne away and stepped out from behind the bar, hurrying over to the scene. There was no security guard on weekdays, nothing ever happened but a few drunks who needed a cab called. Kyra only wanted poor Jeyne out of the scene, the girl was too nervous to ever face a rowdy crowd and was easily startled. She looked back at Kyra helplessly and then took off, staring at the floor.

“Do you know this man?” The girl asked the two women, voice levelheaded and mature. They both shook their heads again. “Do you want him to touch you?” The girl demanded to know, pulling harder on the man’s arm. He protested against her, agitated, wincing from the uncomfortable position. The women shook their heads, timidly clutching their drinks close to their bodies.

“Am I going to have to get security involved?” Kyra demanded, hoping to death the answer was no. The rest of the bar was watching and Kyra wished that if a punch was swung at her, someone else would get scrappy for her.

“No ma’am,” he straightned his sleeves. Kyra relaxed and shot the women a soft smile.

“Pay your tabs then and leave,” she turned her back quick and walked back to the bar. Each man came up sheepishly, throwing cash at the table. Exact change, she noticed. No tip. Typical. She stuffed the wet dollar bills into the cash register. Jeyne peeked out from the back door, her hair falling across her face. “It’s fine, they left,” Kyra called out, her stare going back to the dark haired girl. She was studying Kyra, her body language was a mystery.

Jeyne nervously dried more glasses. “I’m sorry, she squeaked out,” Kyra didn’t answer. The woman was walking up to the bar. She leaned in and stared at Kyra, pupils direct and targeting.

“Everything okay?” Kyra asked. “I’ll give you one on the house for breaking that situation up, whatever you want. Bottled, tap, frozen drink.”

The woman pulled something out of her pocket and moved it across the table to Kyra. It was a printed out photo of Theon’s Facebook photo, a selfie with a dog face Snapchat filter. He had taken it at the bar, she recognized the background behind him.

“My brother comes here, or so his check ins online always say.” She looked up at Kyra, her face stern. She ran a fast hand through her choppy black hair. “I think I’ve seen you.”

Kyra hesitated. “Theon and his sister aren’t even friends on Facebook.”

The woman laughed and shook her head. “Girly, if you know him well enough to know that, you must know he doesn’t know how to use privacy filters. The fool’s posts are all public. No wonder he’s unemployed, you Google his name and you see pictures of him drinking Jack Daniels and making 420 jokes with his friends. I’m not dumb enough to let my little brother go unchecked. I’m always watching him.”

Kyra glanced over at Jeyne. She was distracted again, making small talk with a patron about the next karaoke night.

She scrunched up her face. “Don’t talk about him like you know him. Where have you been all these years?” All she had been hearing of Theon’s family for so long was that they never cared, never checked in. The Starks were more Theon’s family, and even then they were hardly welcoming. Only Robb appreciated Theon, the rest of his siblings mocked him behind his back. A squid out of water, Kyra thought, his only home was here drinking dollar shots at happy hour and carving his phone number into bar tables.

“It’s complicated,” was all she could offer.

Kyra sneered. “Complicated? Seems easy. You aren’t the one who has to see how hurt Theon is about his estranged family. You don’t have to talk to him about his brothers’ deaths and what happened to his mother. Must be easy to just watch from afar and think your brother is nothing but an unemployed drunken idiot.”

The woman shook her head and grabbed the photo of Theon back, shoving it in her pocket, huffing. “Where does he live? The funeral for our Dad is soon and he should to be there for once.”

“For once?” Kyra snapped and turned her back on the woman. A moment ago, she respected this girl, but now she wasn’t sure. She did the three point check in her shorts pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. It was time to go. She gave a wave to Jeyne, the poor girl still discussing karaoke, and left the bar, hurrying past Theon’s sister, brave and brash as she was. Theon’s sister followed, her leather combat boots squeaking on the bar floor.

“Girly!” His sister shouted at Kyra. “I’m just trying to find my brother.” There was a momentarily helplessness in her voice.

Kyra quickened her pace, wishing she wore more comfortable shoes than her platform sandals. She headed past the door, out into the sticky summer night. “My name isn’t Girly!”

Theon’s sister grabbed Kyra by her shoulder and spun her around.

“You just yelled at a man for touching someone, you should know better.” Kyra dug her nails into Theon’s sister arm and threw it off of her. The desperation on her face settled into the fine lines of her mouth.

His sister took a step back and held up her hands, open palmed. “I’m just trying to find out if my only brother left is okay. I know he wasn’t close to our dad, but I’m worried about him.” Kyra gave it a thought, studying his sister. She was older by a few years, her face was angular and hardened. “My name is Asha. I don’t want my brother to go through this alone.”

A moment’s hesitation. “I’m going to his apartment. He always leaves a key under the mat. Let’s see if he’s home. I’m Kyra. I’m Theon’s,” she hesitated, searching for a proper description, “I’m his best friend.”

“I’ve seen you in photos with him, he always looked happy.” Asha offered. The two women stood there in lapsed silence, a treaty hanging between them. Kyra felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She took it out and glanced at it, hoping for Theon’s name to be the sender. SNOW. Now was not the time, she had plenty stocked up, and with her diminishing tips there wasn’t room for much more. Regardless, Kyra clicked view text anyway, if only to give her eyes something to look at.

A picture message loaded. Kyra could barely make out what it was, the lighting was murky. She zoomed in. Was it? It was unmistakably…could it?

She screamed and dropped her phone. The case bounced on the concrete, the screen luminous, showing the photo the sky.

“What, what’s wrong?” Asha asked. Kyra kicked the phone away from her body, afraid it would grow stingers or biting mouths. It was poisonous, it was a scorpion, it was eating her already, hot and green.

Asha leaned over and picked it up, staring at the photo. It was Theon, bound and gagged. His eyes were white and wide and fearful.

“If you call the police,” Asha read, “I will kill him. Tell me, what should I cut off? If you don’t answer in 2 hours I’ll take his ring finger.”

Kyra gripped at her face, acrylic nails scratching at her cheeks. Snow, the man was sketchy, she had always known. Strange and elusive, but she did not think him dangerous. Nothing he ever sold her was laced or low quality, he was a man of his word and often monosyllabic and short with her. Their text exchanges were brief, in person meetings even shorter. Why Theon, why, he didn’t even owe Snow money, neither did she.

“Is this some fucking joke?” Asha spat, shoving the screen in front of Kyra. “Who is this Snow?”

Searching for the words, Kyra opened her mouth and gaped. “He’s—I buy drugs from him.”

“Oh perfect! Perfect!” Asha spat, furious. “You’re the one that got my brother involved in this shit. You know, he may whine and moan about how we didn’t love him but my little brother was never in danger when he lived with us. I never!” She was out of words, balling her left hand into a fist with nowhere to punch.

“Do you believe that he’ll really kill him if we call the cops? What if it’s a prank?” Kyra couldn’t even be angry at Asha. She was too sick with worry to care about her own reputation.

Asha started scrolling up through Kyra’s texts, but there was nothing saved from Snow. She was always careful to clean them out right after a meeting spot was determined. “Let’s go to Theon’s apartment.”

“What does it mean, pick something to cut off?” Asha’s face was ashen. She looked to Kyra for guidance.

“Let’s go.” Kyra tore her uncomfortable sandals off, bare feet on the summer pavement. They ran.

xxx

Theon woke, a soreness spread across his body like roots. First in his head, then to his nether regions, to his ass, to his hands, his arms. All of him felt like one purple bruise. He opened his eyes, a milky film holding his eyelids together. His hands were tied behind his back with several zip ties, the plastic digging in.

Ramsay Bolton sat cross legged on the couch by his feet, smiling at something on his phone.

“Are you awake?” He asked.

Forget being awake, was he alive? He was naked besides his T-shirt, which was pulled up to his nipples. Even his socks were taken off.

“I’m bored. Let’s talk about your friend Kyra.” Ramsay stood up, still focused on his phone. He walked to the other side of the room and pulled down a plastic storage container from atop a cabinet. Popping it open, he pulled out a long heavy piece of rope, thick enough for keeping boats at bay. “Tell me what it was like to fuck her.”

Theon was silent. His body felt oddly wet. He shifted his hips and felt something drip out of him. Swallowing, he held in a wail of panic. So it did happen, he was not imagining the pain. Ramsay Bolton was still inside him, part of him was still there, seething and wet.

“No? You don’t want to tell me? I’ve always wondered. Never got her to give it up. What’s the secret? Get her drunk and bend her over?”

“No.” He was stern, rubbing his bound wrists against his chest, testing. He knew too much movement could tighten the zip ties, but they didn’t feel too heavy-duty. If he had some time he was sure he could work his way out of them with his teeth, bite by bite, bit by bit.

Ramsay scrolled around his phone. He yawned.

“So you won’t tell me? You won’t talk? Last chance to tell me about her cunt. What color was it?”

Theon narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you.” He spat across the room, his saliva hitting the threadbare carpet. Ramsay was on him before he could regret it, his fist cracked the side of his cheek. Stuffing the rope into Theon’s mouth, he gagged him and tied it behind his head. The thick rope took up enough space in his mouth to be uncomfortable, the scratchy filaments dry as cotton in Theon’s mouth. He wished he kept the moisture, he was much too aware of how thirsty he was.

Lifting up his phone, Ramsay took a picture, the camera clicked.

“Let’s hope she checks her phone often. I gave Kyra two hours to decide what part of your body I’m going to cut off. I think the bitch will miss your cock too much, so don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll pick something small.” He shoved his phone in his pocket and turned his back on Theon, entering the doorway to his bedroom. With a flick of his wrist he switched the light off. The room was black as velvet. “Good night Theon Greyjoy. I’ve set an alarm.”


	4. Brittle Nails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyra and Asha discover that Ramsay's texts are not an idle threat--he really does have Theon captive and if they do not comply with his instructions, he will suffer. Ramsay broadcasts his show online, much to the delight of the Bastard's Boys. Theon always wanted to be a star, but not like this.

**Four: Brittle Nails**

 

Asha ran behind Kyra, cursing every god she could name under her breath. She kicked a discarded can of beer on the street, it rolled off into an alley. Truth be told, she was less surprised than she hoped to be. The entire Greyjoy family found danger as easy as following straight train tracks. How many times in high school had she forged her parents’ signatures on detention slips, or smuggled vodka into water bottles? Lord, she had to change colleges twice because of the troubles that found her, and even then she dropped out halfway through. Now, too old for these ruses but too young to hang up the hat, Asha felt stupid for thinking Theon would be easy to track down. She had expected to drag him to the funeral kicking and screaming though, she didn’t expect… _this_.

“Down this street!” Kyra shouted, pumping her arms. They neared Theon’s apartment building and Kyra flung the tattered floor mat to the side, picking up a spare key. Pounding her fist on the door, Kyra shouted for Theon. “Theon Greyjoy, I swear on the old Gods that if you’re in there I’m going to kick your ass across town. And if you’re not in there, I’m going to kick someone else’s ass.” She turned the key and pushed the door forward. Asha leaned inside, holding her breath.

It was unexpectedly clean, Asha thought. Not pristine, there were some empty bottles of beer and an empty pizza box on the floor, but it wasn’t the war zone she had known her brother to live in. Growing up together, his floor was such a mess she could not remember if it was carpet or wooden floor. (And if she weren’t being modest, she was no better.) Kyra darted from room to room, looking in corners as if Theon was folded up into origami.

She held up a phone: no case, a few dents in the corner. “He left his phone. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

“Do you know where Snow lives?” Asha felt dizzy, she sat down on the creaky living room sofa. The apartment smelled vaguely familiar, like a boy’s locker room, juvenile and musky. “Oh god Theon,” she dry heaved for a moment, holding her hand over her mouth. “I could kill him, the fuck.” Kyra took off her necklace and looped Theon’s key onto the silver chain for safekeeping. “We contact the police then, he’s a missing person at the very least. That picture you got is good enough evidence.”

Kyra frowned, hesitating. “Will he get into any more trouble?”

“Because of drugs? Good fucking God you idiot!” Asha laughed. “I think being at a drug dealer’s house is the least of Theon’s worries. Or you’d rather him get shot execution style on video?”

“I just,” Kyra chewed her lip, flakes of lip balm collecting in the corner of her mouth. “Is it fake? Why would he want Theon?” She pulled out her own phone and scrolled through the contacts. “I’m going to text a few of his friends and see if they’ve heard from him. I’m sure you know Theon well enough to know he’s not beyond a sick joke like this.” Asha nodded, she had to give the girl that much. Theon would shit in a shed for weeks on end if it meant the start of a great practical joke. She tried to breathe deeper and keep a level head.

“So what then? We wait until this Snow guy contacts you again?” Asha rocked back and forth, scraping at the dry skin of her elbow. Kyra didn’t respond, she was busy on her phone, it pinged and buzzed with incoming messages. “How is that Robb guy? Robb Stark? I see him on Theon’s Facebook a lot. Handsome young guy, they’re so handsy in photos I used to think they were fucking.”

Kyra smirked and snorted, looking up from her phone for a moment. “You really do keep an eye on everything.”

“Theon isn’t as alone as he thinks. I love him, but he’s a bit of an asshole. Too preoccupied with his own pain to look up for a moment. It’s like he discovered how to jack off and he never stopped.” Asha made a rude hand gesture in front of her crotch and laughed. “I mean, c’mon, just look at you. Don’t tell me you guys haven’t because I know my brother, he doesn’t keep company with hot girls for nothing.”

Another buzz and ping. “Theon’s friend Jon hasn’t heard from him.” Kyra looked up from the glow of her phone. “Theon and I aren’t meant to date. And I’m not sad about it either.”

A beat of silence passed between them, each tried not to check the time.

Kyra’s phone pinged. SNOW flashed across the screen. Kyra swallowed the urchin in her throat, pinpricks of impatience went down hard.

“I got a link,” she said. “It’s to a streaming video site.” She sat next to Asha holding the phone out between them so she could see better. Tapping the link with her middle finger, Kyra ignored the slight tremor welling inside of her.

Asha read the webpage:

“LIVE: REEK REEK IT RYHMES WITH FREAK. Says the uploader is someone named Dreadfort.” The video screen itself was a dull grey, waiting for the show to start. Underneath the video screen was a live chat box and a counter. Currently only 1 viewer was watching. “What does this mean, have you ever seen this site before?”

“It’s a cam site. Untraceable, people say. I know friends who do cam work on them for spare money.” Kyra shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Okay, screw the bull. I do cam work on it sometimes, but not for a while. It has a really good security system, lots of people use it, but that means sometimes you see fucked up shit. I once saw a girl from China that couldn’t be older than twelve.” Kyra trailed off, realizing the site of choice was nothing good.

The number of viewers started to rise. The chat filled up.

BenBones: Bastards boys here!!!

SourAlyn: bens a fucking cuck

DamonDanceForMe: whres the bitch ramsay???

YellowDick: CUT OFF HIS COCK!

Dreadfort: your all impatient

There was a signal. The screen buffered for a second and then there he was: Theon Greyjoy tied and bound, his pupils wide manholes, black and terrified.

***

Ramsay adjusted the tripod, focusing the lens on Theon. He waved to the camera and smiled his wormy grin. Ever a good host, Ramsay took the lamp shade off a light and brought the light source closer to Theon’s wrecked face. His sweet, sweet, pulpy ruined face.

“Sweet Kyra,” he lingered over the name like honeyed ham, moaning a bit with the soft vowel sounds. “Your little fuck boy here told me what it’s like to be inside of you.” Theon bit into the rope and screamed a muffled sound. “Says you’re looser than other cunts he’s been in it, but that’s the price we all have to pay for whores.”

He stroked Theon’s matted hair with long, languid motions.  “Smart boy gets his pussy for free. Good on him. But that’s not what you wanted to know. You want to know if I’m fucking with you.”

Ramsay paused, reviling in the drama. He would love to see her tortured face right now, maybe she was crying and screaming at her phone. The tears of a woman were something to be savored and pitied. The sound was awful, always too high pitched and crass, but it left women ravaged in a way that only a beating could compare. Maybe her mascara was running, painting black claw marks down her tan cheeks.

With a flourish, Ramsay pulled a sharp steak knife from a block of wood on the floor. He let the metal rest in front of the light bulb just for a moment, hoping the glint of metal would transfer to the video. Poor Theon was struggling with all his tired might, thrashing his head around and rubbing his wrists together against the zip ties holding him in place.

Ramsay grabbed Theon by his hair and quickly, with all the finesse of a figure skater, cut a quick raw red X in Theon’s cheek. The creature screamed through the mouth gag, a harrowing sound like a pig in its last moments before the slaughter. Turning towards the camera Ramsay barred his teeth like a vicious hound.

“Does this look like I’m fucking around?” He roared, drops of spittle flying across the room, bits of bubbly spit resting on his lips. Theon screamed and screamed, louder and more terrified with each gasp of breath. He was muffled just enough to truly appreciate the difference cadences and tones of anguish. He would be a fun one, Ramsay thought to himself, a good choice through and through. He had his doubts at first. Women were usually more fun to scare, but a man fighting for his life was as wild and beautiful as a running wolf. Delicious, primal and sexy.

“I asked you Kyra to choose something for me to cut off of Theon here. Like the stubborn bitch that you are, you never answered. Boo.” He frowned, jutting his lip out and faking a soft whimper. “If you were smart you’d tell me to cut his hair. Or maybe you’re so shallow you wouldn’t fuck a bald guy. I get it.” He kissed Theon gently on the nose, like an owner with a purebred pet. Theon pulled his head away. To Ramsay’s great delight he was crying, the snot pooling in his nostrils and dripping down his chin. “Or maybe you’d tell me to trim his fingernails. That’s useful too. But no, you never answered me. And I stand by my word. Hello there viewers, today I’m going to cut off a man’s finger.” Ramsay trailed his finger across the knife, teasing its slight curve like the hips of a lover.

He pulled Theon closer to the camera and grabbed his hand, admiring the visible bones and blue veins underneath the skin. Hands were beautiful, so close to flayed, teasing gore with their thin skin and bony knobbles. Kissing each knuckle, Ramsay sucked on the skin with loud slurps. He edged the knife closer to skin and lifted it.

Theon struggled, but Ramsay’s aim was true. He brought the knife down and it cut through flesh, hard as raw carrot. He lifted the knife again and went for a second strike, this time sawing the blade downward, hitting the bone. The screams melted together into one loud cacophony, bellows of hell, the blaring of church bells at a funeral, the black tar of the damned screaming in flames forever. This was the moment Ramsay loved the most, more than the fucking, more than any sexual pleasure. He loved when his victims realized that even if they made it out alive, they would never make it out whole. Something of theirs would be owned by Ramsay forever. Theon was giving himself over to his new Master, he was his to hold and cherish and ruin.

He sawed away, it was never easy business and the blood was always a bit more than he expected. Ramsay’s own hand was slick and slippery from the amount of blood pouring out of Theon’s hand. He brought it up to his mouth for a hungry lick—salty and bitter, more exotic than any dimpled fruit. Later he would enjoy reading the comments from his viewers, his friends always provided such fun commentary that it was a shame he couldn’t hear it in real time. Of course, he wished Kyra would be typing and leaving pleads in all caps, but he did not get his hopes up yet. There would be time for begging, there would be plenty of time.

Finally, the job was done. Ramsay cut through the last hanging piece of skin and held up Theon’s finger to the camera. It took pathetically up in the air, looking embarrassed and forgotten. Theon curled up in a ball, his screaming had subsided. Could he have passed out? It was easier and faster than Ramsay had bet on. Ramsay sniffed the finger a few times.

“It reeks. It reeks,” were the last words he uttered before he cut the feed, his leathery voice overwhelmed with pleasure.


End file.
